


Time Travel

by shinyhill



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 09:11:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4516173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinyhill/pseuds/shinyhill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not much happens in this story actually, but I like it anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Travel

**Author's Note:**

> A little story I wrote, modern, circus AU.

“We are all time travellers,” Fenris said, as he turned his head to look at her, “All moving through time, all of the time.” She shook her head at him, soft red hair flicking against her cheeks.

“Time is an illusion, lunch time doubly so.” He huffed at her, recognising the quote, and let the subject drop.

“If we do not start moving, we will not be in time to meet the others.” She took his hand when he offered it, and borrowed his strength to pull herself upright.

She loved the way he spoke, no contractions, like someone from another time. She knew it was just that English wasn’t his first language – nor his second, but still it was something she loved. Every sentence sounded just that much more formal, took a tiny bit longer to say in his husky voice.

She let him wrap an arm around her waist and guide her out of the trailer and into the car. Sighing, she moved her leg straighter with her hands until the pain in her knee abated a little. The drive wasn’t long, but she fell asleep anyway, waking with a start as Fenris pulled into the shadow of the tavern. She let him help her out of the car and into the warm, beery air of the tavern. It felt like home.

Varric was already seated at the head of their usual table, shuffling a pack of worn cards in his equally worn hands. Merrill was sitting next to him, her face always looked so naïve. Isabela curled up against her on the bench. Neither Anders nor Garrett had arrived yet, but that was no surprise. Marian warmed her hands at the flickering candle on the table while Fenris went to order drinks.

Marian watched Varric’s hands. His fingers were thick, rough, always moving. “Alright, Marian?” he asked, eyes flicking from her face, to Fenris' narrow back as he stood stiffly at the bar.

“No problems here,” she replied, faking a smile at his concern. They were all concerned for her these days, her injury making them take stock of their own bodies, question their own mortality. It was getting her down. She might be crippled, but she wasn’t dying. Sometimes though, she wondered if that would have been easier – going from strong-bodied healthy life straight into oblivion. A glass of ale appeared in front of her, and Fenris sat. She was glad for his sake that she still lived. She would have hated it if she had become just another painful episode in his life.

Fenris pulled her gently beside him, his deep, rough voice at her ear. “Tell me when you wish to leave.” She gave a little nod, pushing herself into his side, content to let him hold her. Varric smirked at her, and she allowed herself a little grin back. He was the one who had introduced them; when she had been younger and brighter and whole; a well-paid acrobat in Varric’s circus. Now she sold tickets, a little heater in the ticket booth to stop her knee from getting stiff.

Fenris had been so prickly at first. Unwilling to speak even to Varric, who had a gentle way with people, knew how to draw people out. All that he had been able to get out of Fenris though, was that he needed to get away, and he wanted to join the circus and travel with them. Well, there was always space for another hand with the animals, another pair of arms to help raise and lower tents, to pack fences and load trailers. Varric saw something desperate in him perhaps. These days not many people ran away to join the circus.

The first time she’d seen Fenris, Varric had been there, introducing them, watching as Fenris rumbled his way through a brief introduction and Marian got tongue-tied beside him. Fenris was lean, and strong, and listening to his voice was like listening to the growl of thunder in a storm. She’d been infatuated with him from that moment, but it never went anywhere. Fenris held on to his privacy as though it were a possession.

At first she had found it bewildering. Fenris had been so physically strong, he appeared so capable and confident, and yet he let nobody close enough to learn anything about him. Marian hadn’t ever known someone who had so successfully turned away every attempt at friendship, from herself, from Varric, from all of the circus hands. He went about his business so quietly that when he did speak it was almost a shock. Eventually his stoic silences had started getting on everyone’s nerves, and Marian had made it her personal mission to draw the man out.

She took a sip of ale. The heat from the tavern’s open fire made her remember last summer, and practising until they were all sweating and sunburnt. Merrill had been letting Isabela throw knives at her again. Nothing new there. It was the utterly unworried, trusting look on her face that always got Marian. Once, when Merrill had been lain out with a bad fever, Varric had asked Marian to take her place at that night’s show. It had been the most nerve wracking moment of her entire life. Isabela had been full of smiles and chat for the audience, casually throwing the little knives one after the other until Marian was outlined in them, her grin pasted on to her white face with only her years of circus training keeping her from fainting.

Anders had been practising magic tricks, the few children who travelled with the circus were merrily shrieking every time they caught him out. It seemed to please and annoy Anders in equal amounts. Anders was one of the odder members of the troop. One of the best magicians even Varric had ever seen, he was also a fully trained doctor. It was useful to have a doctor in the troop, although Anders never failed to look put upon whenever someone needed bandaging up, or wanted a prescription written. He had, after all, left the medical profession in order to take up trickery and sleight of hand.

He was a handsome guy, pale skinned and tall, with blond hair that he pulled back into a pony tail when he was dressed in his magician’s outfit but left out to feather across his shoulders otherwise. She was sorry, now, for flirting with him when she was younger. She did it with everyone, but Anders had been the only one to take her seriously. She frowned into her ale, and Fenris reflexively tightened an arm around her waist. Leaning into his touch, she rested her head against his slim, warm shoulder. Anders and Garrett suddenly sat at the bench at the end of the table and Marian jumped. She hadn’t heard them appear. She gave a tiny whimper as the flinch dragged at her bad knee. Fenris twisted to look at her, a question in his green eyes, but she shook her head slightly and gave him a smile. She didn’t want to leave yet.

Garrett was loud, boisterous, so very himself. Anders was tucked next to him on the bench, one hand below the table, obviously resting on Garrett’s knee. Garrett was so…Garrett. Varric might own the circus, but Garrett ran it. He was the ringmaster, and the man who held it all together. He was shouting at Varric now to hurry up and deal the cards. It was a weekly ritual, this meeting at the tavern. A tavern. Wherever the circus set up they always found a place like this with cheap beer, and locals who weren’t too unfriendly. A place where they could come for a few rounds of cards, a few rounds of drinks and just be. Marian watched as Anders picked up his cards and immediately pulled a long face. Maker help him if they were playing for money, the man had nothing like a poker face. Fenris on the other hand could keep the same stoic, blank look on his face all night if necessary -it made him a killer poker player, even if the reasons for it were so very wrong. She sat up a little straighter and threw a smile at everyone around the table. It was good to be here, regardless of everything else. Years of habit, routine, had made this a ritual and like all rituals it had the power to soothe.

She met Anders’ gaze over the table, aware that he’d been watching her for some time. He had that look on his face – his doctor face she called it to Garrett's delight. He teased Anders about it mercilessly.

Sometimes she wondered why they were together. Anders was a quiet guy, although Isabela, who had known him for years before he joined them, said that hadn’t always been the case. In the past he’d been a playboy, apparently, full of laughter and not so quiet confidence. Marian didn’t like to pry, she knew most of the circus hands had something they were running from, but when he was practising his magic he was different, his smiles so ready and the banter on his tongue seemed so natural. Then there were moments like right now, where all that happiness seemed to be sucked deep inside, and his quiet, gold eyes just rested on your face, nothing but serious and solemn.

“Cheer up, Anders,” came Varric’s gruff, friendly voice. “I’m sure Garrett won’t let you lose too much tonight.” Garrett and Varric laughed heartily, and Anders pulled a face at them, playing the worst possible card, and then pulling another face when Fenris huffed a laugh at him as well. Marian just smiled at Anders, giving him a quick nod. She was fine, her knee was fine, all was well. It always amazed her how much a nod could say. He nodded back, a gentle smile lighting up his face as his gaze slid to Garrett’s. She had been so very pleased when they had finally admitted that they liked one another. They had danced around it for months, long before her accident. It was that that had brought them together, really. And her and Fenris. She could be grateful about that part of it at least.

When she fell… when she had fallen, the feeling had been sickening. That second as she flew from one bar to the other, suddenly realising that the second bar was just out of reach. That terrible moment when her fingertips had brushed against it only to have it slip past them. She shuddered, the tremor running down her back before she could stop it, and Fenris ran a warm hand up and down over her back, slow, shoulders to hips. He didn’t look at her, or ask if she was alright, and she was grateful, so grateful to him for understanding. Thank the Maker that the fall had happened during practise and not in front of a crowd. She dreaded to think of what might have happened if there had been an audience to her horrible landing, to the crunch of bone as she hit the ground, to the faces of her friends as they ran to make sure that she was alright.

She could only remember the moments before the fall, then nothing, a blank, a memory of black nothing. She had opened her eyes to see Fenris’ green eyes staring back at her, filled with some emotion she hadn’t seen there before. Anders had been there, all business and quiet as he did something with her legs. She didn’t want to look, so she had concentrated on Fenris, his face above hers, his arms under her shoulders, holding her steady as Anders stabilised her. Fenris and Anders had come with her in the ambulance, Anders’s golden eyes dark with worry, although he said nothing. Marian had been aware enough to be amused at the way his glance kept sliding between her and Fenris. Fenris who was holding her hand, stroking it gently and never taking his eyes from her face. She smiled softly at the memory, turning it into a laugh at the joke Garrett was shouting across the table. She placed a hand on top of Fenris’ were it lay on the table, stroking the backs of his fingers with her thumb until she felt his fingertips twitch, and she moved her hand back to her glass, remorseful.

Fenris had…issues. That first night, when she had seen the scars on his chest, his arms, she had been shocked beyond words. Her face betrayed her though; she couldn’t forget the look of hurt resignation in Fenris’ eyes as he had calmly picked up his shirt and slid the fabric back down over the angry red lines. It had taken all of her pleading to make him agree to stay. To show her his body again, once the shock had passed. Even longer to try to coax an explanation from him. She could never forgive his former lover for the things that he had done. Had only been able to stare with a kind of horrified fascination as Fenris had explained that ‘Dan liked knives, a little too much, and a lot more than I did’. He had said it so calmly, but his hands had been clenching and unclenching on his thighs, and she guessed what that calmness cost him. It made sense then, that though Fenris watched most of the circus performances, he always quietly left before Merrill and Isabela came into the ring, Isabela, whose knives were like an extension of her hands, and Merrill, who could happily laugh and toss jokes at the audience as those knives came so close to her unprotected skin.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my writing, please feel free to bribe me for more by donating towards a cup of coffee! https://ko-fi.com/A20836M (also please feel free to request anything at my tumblr - shinyhill.tumblr.com!


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